


When the Lights Are On

by Shadow15



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Depression, Food Issues, M/M, Memory Issues, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22277977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow15/pseuds/Shadow15
Summary: After two years of searching, the last thing Steve expected was for Bucky to show up on his doorstep. But here Bucky was, sick and traumatised and with no memory of his own name, despite knowing Steve's. Don't get Steve wrong, he's glad to have Bucky back, but when a light in the apartment cannot be turned on without Bucky trying to kill him for it, well, sometimes it makes his relationship with Sam very hard. Sometimes he just underestimates how severe Bucky's trauma is.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76





	When the Lights Are On

Steve should have learnt by now that his nights were probably never going to go according to his plans, especially after awakening from the ice; no matter how much hope he had for some peaceful nights, they never went that way. 

Steve had hoped that with Sam, it would be different. And in a way, it _was_ different. There was less loneliness, more comfort and solidarity and a sense of _belonging._ With Sam around, Steve remembered just that tiny bit more what it was like to feel _normal_. 

But that all went to shit at the bang on Steve’s apartment window, too far up the apartment building to be normal. Perhaps it had been an owl, Steve thought, considering the strength of the impact. 

“The hell was that?” Sam was up from the dinner table and on his feet in seconds, Steve beside him as they went to investigate the living area. 

The bang sounded again, so loud, Steve could hear the glass cracking beneath the force. The big black mass moving outside the window proved that it was no owl, and Steve instinctively moved Sam behind him as he assessed the situation. 

“You want your shield, man?” Sam whispered. 

Steve shook his head, his eyes focused on the moving mass in front of them. Part of him wanted to get the shield, but there was some deep, buried part of him that was screaming from somewhere inside that everything was okay, and nobody was in danger. 

The window shattering against one final pummel should have made Steve feel otherwise, but it didn’t. 

“Bucky…?” Steve closed the distance between him and the window, uncaring for the glass shards beneath his boots. He poked his head out of the window, and indeed, just as he had suspected, his best friend and the same person they’d been trying to recover for the past two years was on his windowsill, breathing raggedly and seemingly collapsed. 

Now that the window was shattered and there was nothing to keep outside smells from the apartment, an acute stench assaulted Steve and Sam’s nostrils. They gagged, their stomachs churning and bile climbing their throats at a smell so sickening, there were no words to describe it properly. 

Some of the stench was vomit, they knew. An acrid scent that smelt suspiciously like urine accompanied it. The dried blood mixed in was unmistakable, and whatever else they were breathing in had such a rancid smell to it, even Steve was struggling to not throw up.

They understood the smell and the reasoning for it more clearly once Steve had gotten Bucky in through the window and into the apartment. Bucky was sick. Perhaps even dying. His clothing backed up the theory of vomit and urine because his tattered black tac suit was covered in it, perhaps had been for days or weeks. Maybe even months, looking at him. His hair was filthy, greasy, and tangled beyond belief. But what the worst of it was was the way his eyes were crusted shut, leaving him a blind, whimpering mess.

If it weren’t for the erratic rise and fall of his chest, Steve would have thought he was holding a corpse in his arms. 

Bucky was heavy, but Steve still scooped him up bridal style and turned to Sam with terrified eyes. “Please go run me a bath, Sam…” 

“Yeah, man.” Sam didn’t hesitate to turn around and leave. He knew it probably made him a bad person, but he just couldn’t stomach being in the same room as Bucky while he was in such bad shape. 

Steve kept Bucky in his arms as he gathered towels and blankets from the linen cupboard before following Sam to the bathroom. He dropped them all onto the tiles, haphazardly spreading them into a pile before laying Bucky down on them to undress him and examine his condition. 

Sam felt sick at the sight before him. Bucky’s face was as pale as a sheet, save for red flushes on his cheeks Sam was sure were indicative of a fever. Sweat was _rolling_ off his face and clinging into his hair, as if he’d dunked his head into a bucket of water and hadn’t dried off yet. There were deep gashes all over his face and his body, and _especially_ with the blood and filth that had made itself at home on his face alone, Sam didn’t want to _think_ about what was _inside_ those wounds.

“Hey, can super soldiers still get infections?” Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Steve shook his head. “No. Well, not me, anyway. But this isn’t Erskine’s serum; it’s a cheap knock-off – there’s no telling _what_ differs for us.”

“That’s infection, Cap.” Sam frowned and wrinkled his nose at the smell that seemed to be growing even worse in the confines of the bathroom. “ _Big_ infection. I’m openin’ a window.”

Steve hoped Sam was wrong, but looking at Bucky, he… Well, he really couldn’t argue. His eyes scanned Bucky’s body, and his skin prickled as he realised he would much rather be back fighting against the Winter Soldier rather than sitting here staring; at least when Bucky had been trying to kill him, Bucky had been _alive_ and in decent condition…

Bucky’s body wasn’t much better than his face. Bruises, cuts, _blood and filth_. Ribs pushing up at awkward angles from dislocations. Bucky’s body was _ruined_ , and Steve could feel the tears pricking angrily.

“Sam…” Steve’s voice was so quiet, so defeated, Sam felt sad himself. “…Help me get him into the tub…”

It was a two-man effort to get Bucky into the tub, despite the massive amount of weight he’d lost in the past two years. As soon as his body had entered the tub, the water turned red from blood, and Steve didn’t even want to _know_ what the hell else was floating around in the water. He swallowed down his own vomit as he reached into the tub to pull the plug and wash down the grime.

“Christ…” Sam had moved to Bucky’s head, his fingers parting through hair just as grimy. “Cap, this is… He has head lice. And dandruff. A shit ton of scarrin’. …What the hell? And _fleas,_ Cap. What the hell _happened_?”

Steve shook his head. He chewed at his lip, not wanting to think about what could possibly have happened to get Bucky into this state. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back his tears as he reached blindly for a clean washcloth on the rack. He wet it beneath the warm stream of water filling the tub, not wanting to risk bringing any possible infection from Bucky’s body to his eyes.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever been as gentle as he was in that moment, tenderly dabbing away the crust to try and free Bucky’s eyelids. It must have worked, because with the crust and dirt steadily falling into the water below, Bucky’s eyelids soon opened, and his piercing blue eyes flickered around the room.

“Bucky.” Steve dropped the cloth into the water. “Bucky, I – Oh, _Bucky…!_ ”

Bucky didn’t respond to the name. He blinked as he adjusted to the light filling the bathroom, but no matter what Sam or Steve said, he showed no acknowledgement that he knew they were talking to him – for all they could tell, Bucky wasn’t hearing them at all.

Steve couldn’t keep himself from crying. When the first tears started to fall, he gently requested for Sam to go and borrow headlice shampoo from the neighbours, needing to be on his own for a while.

Of course, even with Sam’s absence, Steve wasn’t feeling any better; not when Bucky finally looked at him and mouthed the unmistakable word, _Steve_.

Steve dropped his face into his hands and sobbed. There were no words to explain how agonising it was to know that Bucky had no idea who he himself was, but still remembered who Steve was. … _Did_ Bucky remember who he was? Or did he just remember the name and would have said it to anyone?

Sam returned when Steve was still crying to himself. He gently took charge, suggesting for Steve to set about making a bed up for Bucky to settle into once he was bathed and dressed. Steve obeyed, trusting Sam to handle this.

Sam did so, washing Bucky tenderly and ensuring he had cleaned everywhere he could before he left Bucky alone to find pyjamas that would fit him. He needed Steve’s help to move him into the bedroom and settle him into Steve’s bed, but once that was done, they left to talk together in the kitchen quietly.

“He looks like he’s _dead_ , Sam…” Steve whispered. His hands trembled as he retrieved a mug from the cupboard in hopes that a coffee might make him feel better.

“He’s sick,” Sam agreed. “Some of the vomit on his clothes was fresh, and he’s definitely runnin’ a temperature. He needs rest. And some food. Somethin’ light and easy on his stomach, Cap. You want me to make something?”

Steve knew he should have been ashamed of himself taking up the offer – but really, the only energy he had was to cry. Cooking was out of the question, as much as he wanted to help Bucky. “Please, Sam…”

“Go sit with him,” Sam suggested with understanding. “Keep him company.”

Steve nodded. He returned to his room and sat on the other side of the bed, trying to put distance between he and Bucky, who was staring out of the window and into the cold, rainy night sky. No one spoke; no one made any sound until Sam had returned with a bowl and food, and almost immediately Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he vomited nothing but bile.

Steve started to cry again. The only reasoning Sam could come up with was that either Bucky was so starved, he physically could not handle food, or HYDRA had kept him nourished by means other than feeding him. Both were horrible choices, but really, Sam couldn’t find it in him to expect anything else.

“Steve?” Sam put the bowl of food outside the door and came to the bed to squeeze Steve’s arm. He shook his head. “Tomorrow, he needs a doctor. A _good_ doctor.”

“I’ll take him to my friends,” Steve swore. “They’ll help him. I know they will.”

But Steve should have known better than to think that anything would go easy – not with Bucky involved, anyway. Even back before Bucky had fallen from the train, nothing was ever simple or easy with him involved.


End file.
